


automatic drip

by anaer



Series: Spasms [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), The Flash (Comics), Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bad Puns, Can be read alone, Crack, Humor, M/M, Multi, but the first fic helps, copious amounts of dick jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:16:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8218799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaer/pseuds/anaer
Summary: "If, at some point in the near future, the Bat family had an official family dinner, and at some point after said dinner, Bruce walked in on Dick fucking Jason in his bed in revenge, well.  That’s a story for another time."That time is now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this is now a series! I'm already writing the third story. Hope you enjoy.

It was the twelfth day of the third month of the first year of the cohabitation between one Richard John Grayson (the hero formally known as Nightwing, but more commonly referred to as Dick) and his errant paramour (a certain Jason Peter Todd, the anti-hero/sometimes villain/former sidekick/all around bum infamously renowned as the Red Hood).  The months between what Dick would only thereafter refer to as “the incident” – involving a certain backstabbing speedster and a certain rodent-themed father and a certain bed and apartment in general that didn’t belong to either of them – and the present had been a rather tumultuous period of time.  Not least because one Slade Wilson (even more infamously renowned than the Red Hood) had shown up to harass Dick’s life for no reason, the Joker had broken out of Arkham again (twice!) putting Jason on the rampage, and Damian Wayne, God bless the little bastard’s soul, had, in a fit of ten-year-old vengeance, cancelled any and all programs Dick Grayson had DVR’d at Wayne Manor over some perceived slight to his nonexistent manhood (again, he was ten). 

 

More pressingly, though, was the issue of Babs Jordan’s latest hit novel in the ever more famous _Native Arrow_ series. The love pentagon had ballooned, almost into a dodecahedron at this point, as new rivals entered Harper’s life.  His attentions were now held by a Peter Todd Jameson, wanted felon with a heart of gold.  Not to mention Walter East, still the honest, sweet, hard-working and eternally poor sort, was slowly being seduced by the ever rich Rich Dickson’s even richer godfather, Wayne Batruce.  The critics raved about the book, calling the ending a real game changer in the literary world.  They theorized that Babs Jordan had crafted a modern day classic that would one day join the likes of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens in the literary canon. 

 

Not that Dick would know.  He hadn’t managed to make it that far before the book had joined the remains of his former apartment as a pile of ash.  And a certain Barbara Gordon had woken up the next morning with a very strongly worded e-mail in her personal inbox that had yet, to this day, to be responded to. 

 

As bad as the disgusting feeling seated in Dick’s stomach had been upon reading the otherwise fantastically written novel, it paled in comparison to his feelings on the worst possible thing to have arrived out of “the incident”.  Granted, not everything was bad.  Living with Jason meant much more frequent sex, for one.  And half as much money in bills.  But Dick was still down one best friend currently, which is what made this right here even worse.

 

“Oh—shit. Dick’s home; I gotta go.” Dick heard Jason rush off the phone the moment he stepped through the door.  He frowned.  By the time Nightwing made it to the kitchen, his paramour sat casually – too casually – at the kitchen bar, his cell carefully placed out of reach.  And in nothing but his underwear, which Dick was half tempted to take as a distraction tactic because wow sometimes he just wanted to touch Jason’s perfectly sculpted abs.  Which he did.  Usually.

 

But not this time.  He had to focus. 

 

“Who was that?” Dick asked, sure to keep his voice light.  Jason grew suddenly shifty-eyed and cleared his throat.

 

“No one,” he said instantly, and then stopped, and then blinked, reevaluating.  “I mean, what are you talking about, who was what?”

 

Dick’s eyes narrowed.  Jason stared back guilelessly, or at least as guileless as he could get, which, admittedly, wasn’t very.  He pretty much always looked like he was either up to something or plotting a murder, but to be fair – he usually was.

 

“ _No one_ wouldn’t happen to be a certain backstabbing, heartless, pain in my ass former best friend of mine, would it?”

 

Jason got even shiftier, if it were possible.  He’d miscalculated, though, because in trying to appear as innocuous as possible, he had shoved the evidence closer to Dick than to himself.  Who, thinking fast, snatched up Jason’s phone and hit redial. 

 

“ _Jason_?” the phone was answered before it could even ring.  _“What’s up?  I thought you said Dick was home.  And he’s still got that stick up his ass even though it’s been months.”_

 

Just as he suspected.  Dick meant to reply calmly.  He had a nice message all thought out, a kind way of telling Wally to go fuck himself – or maybe not fuck, maybe not thinking that word at all in connection with Wally, yeah, that sounded like a good plan.  Either way, what actually came out was, “Oh, _I_ have a stick up my ass?  I’m not the one with things up my ass that don’t belong there, Wallace! And yeah, that’s right, I’m talking about Bruce’s peen!”  Next to him Jason let out a disbelieving groan and dropped his face into his hands. 

 

On the other line Wally replied entirely too cheerfully and unfazed.  The asshole.  “ _Oh, hey, Dick!  You’re talking to me again, then?”_ And then, because he obviously was trying to see how far he could push before Nightwing would actually snap and commit murder out of some kind of morbid scientific curiosity, Dick was sure of it, and also because Wally had the impulse control of a two year old and couldn’t help himself, added, “ _And the only_ dick _riding my ass at the moment is you.”_  Dick could hear the wink in his stupid, dumb voice, and fumed.  _“Not to say I don’t wish you were right.”_

 

How had he ever, in the past decade or so, thought that Wally West was a decent human being?  Now his only best friend was Roy.  Who couldn’t even look at him without laughing ever since Wally had told him the story – because Wally was too fucking fast all the time and had gotten to Roy first, damn him. 

 

“Wallace Rudolph West,” Dick began slowly, “You are dead to me.”

_“Cool,”_ Wally replied without missing a beat.  “ _So, if we’re talking again can you put Jason back on the phone?”_   Dick let out a wordless snarl.  This, right here, was his whole life’s problem.  Somehow, following the events of “the incident”, Jason Todd and Wally West, the hero know on this world and several others as the Flash:  The Fastest Man Alive (in more ways than one), had managed to become friends.  They’d _bonded_.

 

Four months ago, Dick would’ve been fine with this.

 

But then again, four months ago, Dick had thought Wally was an upstanding sort of fellow who wasn’t engaging in copious amounts of sex with people other than his wife, especially when those people happened to be certain adopted fathers of certain best friends in certain friends’ beds and kitchens and living rooms.  Now, though?

 

Now Dick absolutely hated it.

_“Okay,”_ Wally was saying on the other end of the line, still entirely too cheerful but unable to take the extended silence, “ _You’re still mad.  But in my defense, I have apologized to you thirty eight times over the past three months, and I bought you those crazy expensive chocolates you like from France and nearly broke my paycheck doing it – and you ate them, so you have to forgive me at this point, those are the rules, man.”_

 

“I’m not going to let you bribe me into forgiveness!”  Although, those chocolates had been _really_ good.  Dick had almost caved for a second. 

 

Wally sighed.  “ _Look.  Dick.  How about this.  If it’ll make you feel better, you can totally sleep with Linda.  In our bed and everything.  Maybe not in our kitchen or living room because, you know, the kids.  She’s totally on board with it – it’s actually kind of her idea to be honest, you’re on her list of people she will bang first chance she gets.”_   Dick stared at the phone in disbelief.

 

“I don’t want to have sex with your wife, Wally!” he shouted back, prompting a rather amused raised eyebrow from Jason next to him.  “Especially not when you’d probably get off on it, you freak.  And besides – that’s not even remotely the same thing, I’d have to have sex with like – I don’t know, _Barry_ or something for it to even be close to the same!” 

 

Wally was silent for three whole seconds which was practically an eternity for him.  “ _I mean…I don’t know if he’ll go for it, but I can definitely talk to him.”_

 

Dick hung up the phone.  And then glared at Jason.  “Why do you talk to him?” he demanded.  Jason shrugged.

 

“Because he’s pretty cool to hang out with; I see why you like him.”

 

“I _don’t_!  I don’t like him.”  Dick would swear to this forever.  He did not like Wally West, not even a little bit.

 

“Yeah, well, your loss, my gain.  Those Titans events he’s been inviting me to since you stopped showing up are actually pretty great.”  Jason looked entirely too happy at that. And while pre-“incident” Dick would have been thrilled at Jason connecting with the rest of the superhero community, the fact that it was now, and because of Wally, of all people, was too much to take.  Not only was Wally not suffering, he was replacing Dick with Jason.  Which was apparently a really easy thing to do, given that Bruce had also done it all those years ago.  Maybe they did belong together.

 

And now he was thinking about Bruce and Wally together in any capacity and he cried inside about the fact that Raven’s phone had been destroyed in her last battle with Trigon and he still hadn’t been able to reach her about bleaching his brain.

 

“You weren’t even a Titan, Jason; you can’t go to Titan events!”

 

Jason pushed himself up out of the seat, coming nose to nose with his boyfriend.  “Excuse you, Dick, I _was_ a Teen Titan, if you remember:  but wait, I guess you wouldn’t, because it was only for about five minutes before I was _murdered_ by the Joker.  Remember that?  When the Joker _killed me_?”

 

“Oh my God, you can’t just bring up the Joker every time you want to win an argument!”

 

Jason rolled his eyes.  “I can and I will – and we’re not even arguing.  Besides, if we were, and I wanted to win, I would just do this,” and Jason kissed him.  Dick thought about protesting for a second, but then his hand had somehow migrated to Jason’s ass without being consciously aware, and Little Dick was suddenly in the game, and those damn abs were pressing up against him and Dick was a lost cause.

 

They’d just continue this conversation tomorrow.

 

~~~

 

As it turns out, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd did not end up continuing their conversation the next day.  Jason was awake when Dick woke up, a feat that was by and afar unusual, but known to happen.  What wasn’t known to happen was that he was already out of bed and fully dressed, cleaning his teeth of the remains of breakfast. 

 

“I have to go,” he said when he finished brushing, “I’m meeting Roy in Star City at three, and I have to swing by Keysto—uh,” Jason cut himself off, and course corrected, “Somewhere…else…to meet someone to do a thing before that.”

 

Dick chose to be magnanimous and ignore whatever Jason might be getting up to with the biggest backstabber in the world.  “Since when do you hang out with Roy?” he asked instead.

 

“Since the Titans reunion party three weeks ago that you skipped because you didn’t want to be in the same room as the Flash,” Jason replied.  “Turns out your friends aren’t actually total losers, and I have a lot in common with them.  Roy and I have decided to meet up once a week to do…uh…to do a thing.”

 

‘To do a thing’, yeah, that wasn’t suspicious in the least. 

 

Dick was about to call him on it when gunshots suddenly echoed through the apartment.  Dick dived of the bed without thinking, but when he glanced back up, Jason just stood there, laughing at him.  Dick seriously, seriously wondered what, exactly, he loved about Jason. 

 

“That was the doorbell, dumbass,” his paramour so kindly explained, rolling his eyes.  Dick gracefully pulled himself to his feet.  “Would you get it?” Jason continued, “I’m still getting ready.”

 

“I mean, it’s my door, too,” Dick answered, moving towards the bedroom door.  “Only you think that’s a good idea for a doorbell.  I’m gonna have a heart attack from that one of these days, you realise.”

 

“I don’t know—Roy seemed to like it,” Jason shot back. 

 

That stopped Dick in his tracks.  “Roy’s been here?  When has Roy been in our apartment, and why, as his best friend, am I just hearing about this now?”  He turned around, hands on his hips.  The glare on his face did little to cow his vigilante boyfriend, who just shrugged and headed back for the bathroom.

 

“I mean, here and there, just a few times – and honestly, it didn’t seem that important.”  Gunshots sounded again, twice in rapid succession, and Dick huffed, turning on his heel and storming out the bedroom to the front door.  He yanked it open with one swift jerk. 

 

In the doorway stood a certain Timothy Jackson Drake, the third Robin of his name.  His name in question being Robin, of course, and not Tim.   Like the two before him who abided in this apartment, he had parted from the title, though not as completely.  Not content to simply be a sidekick anymore – but also not on such impossibly bad terms with Bruce that he wanted to disassociate entirely or, say, dead – the young Tim had opted to change his moniker to ‘ _Red_ Robin’.  It was, to quote Jason Todd, “fucking stupid.”

 

But then again, Jason still had some lingering, unresolved issues over being replaced, even if he no longer attempted to deal with them by beating the shit out of Tim with a crowbar.  Sharing the trauma or some shit, he had claimed.  Dick called it an improvement.  Barbara called it Jason knowing he had to be at least this good a person in order to successfully get in Dick’s pants “and, really, you know you shouldn’t be dating him anyway.  You’re enabling him.  At the very least, get him some therapy.”

 

Well, the joke was on her.  Jason had gotten therapy once.  And truth be told, he had gotten some very sound advice in dealing with his anger issues; Dick had witnessed this himself.  Of course, then he’d discovered that the therapist was a deranged lunatic with a penchant for killing his patients in slow and creative ways.  Or maybe Jason had gone to that guy in the first place because of the whole ‘serial killer’ thing, it was hard to tell sometimes.  Either way now, the guy was dead and dismembered somewhere, his body disposed of in ways that Dick chose not to think about much – and Jason had all the ammunition he needed as far as why he would never again go to a therapist.  Even if the breathing exercises did come in handy. 

 

Although, when Dick had said as much to Barbara, she’d responded with, “Maybe you’re the one who needs to be in therapy,” which, well, was fair.  There was just no winning with her, the all-seeing angel that she was.

 

“Hey, Tim!” Dick greeted, ushering his younger brother into the door.  Tim was firmly camped in younger brother territory, unlike Jason, but in Dick’s defense Jason was actually 100% beautiful, and Tim was like…twelve.  Also, unlike Jason, Tim got included in the family portraits.  “What’s up?”

 

Tim crossed the threshold gingerly, eyeing the apartment as he came inside.  He looked slightly green in the face, especially when his eyes landed on what were definitely Jason’s briefs from last night thrown over the couch.  Dick knew they were Jason’s because some days you just wanted to be free and uncontained – just let the birds fly free, as it were.  Yesterday, he’d been in one of those moods.

 

“Uh, Alfred wanted me to give you this,” the teen replied, pulling a slightly crumpled envelope out of his pocket.  It was unlabeled, but Dick peeled it open and pulled out what was a lavishly decorated invitation card.  His face went pale as his eyes skimmed over the words.  It read:

__

_ Masters Richard J. Grayson and Jason P. Todd _

_Are cordially invited_

_To the 8 th semi-annual Wayne Family dinner_

_On Tuesday the 27 th_

_At 7 PM EST_

_RSVP not required_

_(As attendance is mandatory)_

 

“You said, uh…you said Alfred said to give us this?” he asked, voice suddenly small.

 

Tim nodded sympathetically.  “Bruce tried to throw it away.  That’s why it’s so crumpled.  Alfred wasn’t very happy about that when he found out, so, here I am.”

 

“Shit,” Dick said. 

 

“Shit what?” Jason asked, wandering out of the bedroom. “Hey, replacement,” he added upon noticing Tim.  Tim gave a cool nod and a glare, but other than that chose not to respond.  He, too, was still salty over the time(s, plural, Dick chose not to remember) that Jason had tried to murder him.  In Jason’s defense (literally, his defense, this is what he always used), if he’d actually wanted Tim dead, Tim would probably be dead, he was just trying to “toughen the kid up a bit…maybe maim him a little, I don’t know.”

 

Maybe Dick really should suggest that therapy idea to him, on second thought.  But later.  Right now, he merely held out the invitation, and Jason plucked it from his hand as he approached.  His face didn’t pale like Dick’s had, but his countenance grew darker as his eyes went line by line.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” he said, too, a couple seconds later.  Probably after reading it over a third time because that’s just how Jason was.  “Do we have to?” he asked after a beat.

 

“It’s Alfred,” Dick replied with a sigh.  “So, yeah, we have to.”

 

“Fuck,” Jason added, always willing to spice things up a bit.  “I don’t want to go, Dick.  I don’t want to have dinner with Bruce.”  His voice had a pleading quality, and if Dick didn’t know better, he’d think Jason was pouting.  Who was he kidding, Jason was definitely pouting:  Jason was a pouter.    

 

Dick pinned him with a glare.  “Oh, and you think I want to?  Whose best friend was it, huh?  Not yours!  Mine!  Although, the way things are going, he might as _well_ be your best friend!”

 

“We are not having this fight again!  Besides, you should be glad I’m making friends; I’ve had trouble with that since I came back to life after that time the _Joker murdered me._ ”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Jason!”

 

“He beat me to death with a crowbar.  And then blew me up.  Kind of makes it hard to connect with people sometimes!”

 

“Cry me a river – you’re not dead anymore, are you?  Because I’ll tell you right now:  I am not into necrophilia.”

 

Tim backed away cautiously.  His face looked slightly more green.  “Okay, guys, this has been fun, but, you know, I kind of have to meet Bart, and—” Dick’s head swiveled around so fast he could’ve been possessed. 

 

“Bart?” he asked lowly.  Tim swallowed nervously, but stood his ground, and nodded.  “Don’t trust him,” Dick continued, “He may seem all friendly and harmless and unassuming, and act like your best friend, but fucking _speedsters_ , they’ll stab you in the back as soon as look at you.”

 

Tim blinked.  And then sighed.  “Look, I don’t know all of what went down between you and Bruce and Wally, and honestly, I think I’m better off not knowing.  I’m not even trying to figure it out.  But to be perfectly honest, Wally’s more of an asshole than Bart is, and we all know it.  Now, I really don’t want to spend another second here in your den of sin,” he shot another glance over to where Jason’s underwear were thrown on the couch, his eyes catching onto the trail of clothes between there and honestly, not even the bedroom, they didn’t even make it that far last night, not until later.  Tim looked even more nauseous, if it was possible.  “I don’t think your apartment is even a little bit sanitary.”  Well, that explained why he hadn’t so much as stepped past the doorway.  “So, uh, yeah, there’s that; I’ll see you guys on Tuesday.”

 

And then Tim Drake, proving himself to be by and afar the most sensible of all the Robins, turned tail and fled.

 

Dick rolled his eyes, and turned back to Jason, who was back to staring at the invitation with a look of pure dread. Finally, the younger man dropped it down onto the coffee table.   He took in a deep breath, steeling himself, and then looked up defiantly at Dick. 

 

“I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

 

Dick prodded over to the sofa and plopped down, shoving Jason’s underwear to the other side of the seat.  He shrugged.  “Okay.”

 

Jason blinked.  “Okay?  That’s it?”

 

“What, were you expecting a fight?”

 

“Actually?  Yeah.”

 

Dick shrugged.  “No fight,” he said. “But I will tell you this:  if you make me go alone, you get none of this Dick,” he gestured to all of himself with one hand, “for the foreseeable future.  Your choice.”

 

Jason made a funny face, torn between disgust and murder.  “And you wonder why you get along with Wally,” Dick absolutely did not hear Jason mumble under his breath. Because he did not get along with Wally West, and never, ever would ever again.  “Fucking dorks, the both of you.”   And then, louder:  “Fine.  Whatever.  You win.”  With that, Jason stormed out of the apartment, making sure to slam the door hard behind him. 

 

Drama queen.

 

~~~

 

It was Tuesday, the 27th.  Richard Grayson sat in the dining hall of Wayne manor, at the elaborately laid out dinner table, his irritable boyfriend in tow. Jason was not in possession of the arms he had been determined to bring – Nightwing (for it was, in fact, an act of superheroics that had had achieved this feat) had managed to wrestle him down from bringing even one gun, and only allowed the Swiss Army Knife the man had stored away in his fancy black slacks on the technicality that they were going to dinner and there was a slim – impossibly slim – chance that every single bottle opener possessed by the household of Wayne had magically disappeared and in that event, Jason having a Swiss Army Knife on him would be more than welcome.  If Dick himself had a minor daydream earlier about Jason stabbing Bruce, well. 

 

Dreams never hurt anyone, did they?

 

Bruce sat at the head of the table, an even more dour look on his face than usual.  Alfred had ever so thoughtfully sat Dick next to him on the right, and then Jason next over.  Damian and Tim sat on the opposite side, and then Barbara at the other end of the table.  Neither Cass nor Steph had been able to make it to this dinner – although, Dick suspected they were purposely staying away to avoid whatever blowout was about to happen.

 

They were probably the smartest members of the family. 

 

Then again, Barbara already had her notepad out in preparation.  Who knew what the _Native Arrow_ saga would bring next?  Or her next dissertation. 

 

The joke was on them.  Dick wasn’t going to let Bruce get to him.  There would be peace in the house tonight.  If peace came at the cost of what was so far proving to be the most awkward and uncomfortable dinner the House of Wayne had experienced since that notable Thanksgiving eight years ago when Bruce had tried to bring Selina, but Ivy had shown up in a jealous rage and had ended with Superman accidentally laser-visioning a significant chunk of the mansion away, well, so be it.

 

Everyone sat chewing in total silence.  Barely suppressed anger emanated from both sides of Dick, but at least Jason was easy to handle. Bruce, on the other hand, was not.  Even Damian sensed the mood in the air for once and was sitting quietly in his seat, casting furtive glances around the room.  Barbara had a somber look on her face broken only by the occasional twitch of her lips, a sure sign she was struggling not to die of laughter.

 

Suddenly, Tim cleared his throat, and every eye in the room snapped to him, including Bruce’s piercing death glare.  Tim shrank down in his seat, haphazardly sipping at his water.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

 

Silence resumed.

 

And then Bruce spoke.  “Damian, can you pass the salt?”

 

“Yes, Father,” the fourth Robin of that name replied, reaching next to Tim to grab the condiment in question. 

 

“Gee Damian,” Dick said, surprising even himself, “You’d best not give Bruce the salt.  He might accidentally – or, hey, even purposely – pour some pepper in it, and then, damn, what do you know?  You can’t use the salt anymore ‘cause it’s tainted!  You suddenly have to throw away the whole thing of salt because _someone_ doesn’t know how to properly use the salt!”

 

At the other end of the table, Barbara was scribbling furiously away in her notebook.  Tim had slipped further down into his seat with a groan, and Damian was just staring at Dick in total disbelief, one hand resting on the salt.

 

“You’re a freak, Grayson,” he announced, passing the salt over to their shared father.

 

Bruce, jaws clearly grinding, accepted it gracefully.  And then, without turning to Dick, said, “I know proper salt procedure.  I understand that just because the salt and the pepper were not bought at the same store doesn’t mean they can be used in the _same dish._ ”

 

Damian looked even more confused, and Tim kept on sliding down.  Barbara’s pen was seconds away from causing smoke on her paper she was writing so fast. 

 

“But you do use salt and pepper together?” Damian ventured.  He was ignored. 

 

“Well, at least _I_ know better than to mix salt with _paprika_ , when pepper and paprika already go perfectly fine together.”

 

“Salt and paprika are a valid combination,” Bruce said, face impassive, “and any chef who combines them should be applauded.  Only close-minded chefs think otherwise.”

 

“In that case, salt and pepper—”

 

“I have to use the bathroom,” Jason cut in, standing abruptly.  Bruce turned to look at Jason. 

 

“You haven’t been excused.”

 

“Well, fucking excuse me, then—I’m gonna go take a piss.”  And then under his breath mumbled, “Can’t take another fucking second of this nonsense,” before stomping out. 

 

Dick rolled his eyes.  Jason was always so dramatic.  “What was I saying?” he asked, turning back to Bruce.

 

“Salt and pepper,” Bruce growled in reply. 

 

“Right.  Yeah, well, in that case, the salt doesn’t need the pepper anymore, does it?  The chef is choosing the paprika over the pepper!”

 

“Well, I’m sure the pepper will be very happily paired with the garlic.”

 

“Garlic is delicious, so I’m sure it will be!”

 

Damian turned to Tim.  “Drake,” he said, “Are you understanding this at all?”

 

At this point, the table looked like it was about to swallow Tim whole.  “Unfortunately, yes.”

 

“Explain it to me.”

 

“Yeah, how about no.”

 

“So!” Barbara chimed in all of a sudden, the only legitimately happy smile – or smile period – on display in the entire manor.  “How were your weeks?  Mine was great.  Really great.”  When no one responded, she prompted further.  “Bruce?”

 

And that is the moment the illusion shattered.  Maybe it was the lilt to her voice.  Maybe it was the glint in her eye.  Maybe it was something about the way she rested her elbow on the table when they were in the middle of a fancy dinner, just so she could put her chin on her hand.  In that moment, the blinders suddenly flew off Dick’s eyes.  For so many years, he’d been deceived.  But now…but now.  Barbara Gordon sat before him not as the all-seeing angel from above he’d always known her as, but as what she really was.  A relentless, peeping troll from the depths of hell.  Stirring the pot for her own satisfaction.  Planning to make money off of his pain.  Benefitting off of his personal destruction.

 

Red hair was a sign of the devil, Dick was sure of it now.  Wally was the worst, and Barbara was terrible, and Roy was apparently having secret get togethers with Jason which could obviously be nothing good.  Starfire was the only one left he could trust.  And her hair lit itself on fire every time she breathed. 

 

Why did Dick have so many redheads in his life?  Statistically, it was kind of crazy and definitely improbable.

 

But, whatever.  Barbara was still, at the very least, a better friend than Wally, so there was that.

 

“My week was fine,” Bruce finally replied.  And then he glared directly at Dick’s face.  “In fact I had an interesting conversation with the Flash yesterday.”  It came out two steps above a growl. 

 

The audacity.  Dick scowled.  The two of them really did deserve each other.  Wally and Bruce, together forever. 

 

“Was it, by chance, in Clark’s kitchen?  Or bedroom?  Just wondering for my own peace of mind.”  There was a chance that sentence could have come out snider, but it would’ve taken a lot of extra effort, and Dick put a lot of effort into the exact degree of snide he was aiming for as it was.

 

“It was about Jason, actually,” Bruce continued.  His jaw was suddenly ticking, Dick could see, but the man did an excellent job of ignoring it.

 

Dick’s scowl grew.  Across from him Damian watched the scene with a gleeful type of fascination while Tim made a concerted effort to look anywhere else.  Barbara sat back in her chair, not even attempting to hide the smirk resting on her beautiful, soft lips.  Dick kind of missed those lips a bit. 

 

But then, Jason’s lips were a lot better and had none of the profiting off his suffering going for them.  And Jason’s hair was prettier, too.  Black.  It was Dick’s new favourite hair color. 

 

“What _about_ Jason?”

 

“They’ve apparently been spending a lot of time together, is all,” Bruce said innocuously. 

 

“Jason can spend time with whoever he wants.  Just because he may not have the best judgment as to who doesn’t change that.”

 

“Hm,” Bruce replied.

 

“What?” Dick demanded.

 

“I just find it interesting that you say that, is all.  That Jason doesn’t have the _best judgment_ when it comes to choosing who to _spend time with_.”

 

That was it.  That was the end.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  Dick threw his utensils down and stood.

 

“You know what?  Jason’s taking a really long time in the bathroom.  I’m gonna go check on him – make sure the food or the _salt_ isn’t disagreeing with his stomach.”

 

Dick was extremely proud of the way he stormed out angrily.  He was less proud when he exited the dining room to find Alfred there, frowning in disapproval.  It was even worse because Al didn’t say a word – he just shook his head slowly and walked away.

 

So, great.  He had officially disappointed Alfred.  This was _definitely_ one of those days.

 

It only took three wrong guesses before Dick figured out where Jason was, and he first two only happened because he’d actively looked for his missing paramour in the bathroom first.  As if Jason would actually be where he said he was going.  Where he found Jason was his old bedroom – Dick’s, not Jason’s, he’d checked Jason’s first, thus the third misstep – sprawled out on top of the bed and flipping through an old photo album of Robin.  Jason glanced up when Dick entered the room, saw it was Dick, and then went back to flipping.

 

“Gotta say, your legs are not what they used to be,” Jason commented, flipping a page. 

 

“That’s because I don’t have to show them off for everyone to see all the time anymore.  You know what that’s like.”  Jason shrugged a shoulder, half in agreement.  Also because everything Jason had just said was a total lie; Dick’s legs were almost as nice as his ass.  “Besides,” Dick continued, “If you don’t like them, you don’t have to see them anymore.”  And then because sometimes he made bad life choices, Dick unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, showing off his rather sexy, exquisitely sculpted quadriceps, if he did say so himself. 

 

Jason glanced over, and then rolled his eyes in the most exaggerated eye roll he could muster. “I mean, yeah, your legs are nice – but mine are better.  _And_ I rocked the scaly panties better than you did.”  Jason stood up, and before Dick knew it, had unbuckled and dropped his slacks to the floor, too.  And, okay, Dick definitely hadn’t expected _that_.

 

“What are those?” he asked darkly.  Jason glanced down.  At his underwear.

 

“Oh, these?  They’re all I had,” he shrugged, unconcerned.

 

Dick glowered.  “Where are the rest of your briefs?”

 

“In the laundry.  Forgot to do it yesterday.” 

 

“And you couldn’t go commando?!” he exclaimed, voice a tad shy of hysterical.  Dick Grayson could not believe what he was seeing.  Never, in the twenty-some years of his life on this planet had he ever envisioned the universe would converge in such a way that he would be standing here, in this moment, subjected to what Jason was putting him through right now. 

 

“In these slacks?  Fuck, no.  This shit itches. Besides, these things are comfy.” 

 

“You’re wearing _Flash_ underwear.”  It was so painful Dick felt like his eyes might bleed.  He could not believe that his own boyfriend, in his own bedroom, would do something like this to him. 

 

“I know what I’m wearing.  I put them on myself this morning and everything.”  And then Jason – he smirked at him!  Jason Todd, the Red Hood, Dick’s own boyfriend, with his perfect face and perfect legs and less than perfect personality – not to mention those fucking _red briefs_ with _lightning bolts_ – had the audacity to _smirk_ at him. 

 

Jason practically was a redhead.  There was honestly no one left in his life that Dick could trust, he realised that now.

 

“Jason,” Dick said slowly, enunciating each syllable of his words.  “You came here in those underwear.  But I can’t, as your boyfriend, allow you to leave here in them.  I can’t do it.” 

 

Jason’s smirk only grew. “The fuck are you waiting for, then?”

 

Dick blinked, taken aback.  Oh.  Well.  That changed everything.  Without wasting another second, the hero known as Nightwing suddenly attacked Jason’s mouth with a ferocity that had heretofore been seen from him on only two other occasions.  The first of these had been many years back, in his Titan days of old, and one was one of those events written down in the five of them’s collective history as “best not talked about”.  Literally, the day and time were written in their old logbook with no note but that one.  The second had been that night three months and some days ago, when, in the aftermath of “the incident” – at Jason’s insistence, of course – Dick had gone home with him and rather definitively cleansed himself of the night’s events with Jason’s body, but _most_ importantly had cleansed himself with Jason’s ass. 

 

Although, it sounded kind of weird when he phrased it like that, Dick was willing to admit to himself. 

 

Jason attacked back with equal intensity, determined to rid Dick of the tie he had insisted on wearing to dinner (not that he wanted to, per se, but Alfred was already disappointed in him and it would’ve been twice as bad if he’d shown up not dressed properly at all – Jason could slide with things, he was the problem child, he got props just for showing up at all, the lucky asshole).  Dick was halfway through the buttons on Jason’s shirt when he pulled back all of a sudden.

 

“Wait a minute, Jason – stop.”

 

Jason paused, scowling at him.  “The fuck are you stopping me for?”

 

There was – a thought in his mind.  A small one, slowly taking shape.  Dick pondered it for a moment, allowing it to percolate – to blossom and grow.  A decidedly wicked grin fell over his lips, one that had Jason raising an eyebrow in wonder.  And possibly slight alarm, it was hard to tell with him sometimes. 

 

“I’ve got an idea,” he finally responded, letting his grin spread wider. 

 

“Am I gonna like this idea?”  Jason asked.  Dick didn’t answer immediately, instead he leaned back in to kiss Jason again – slower, this time, and more meaningful. 

 

“Probably,” Dick said, upon separating once more.  “It’s a terrible idea.”  He paused.  Jason didn’t say anything, though – for once, which was actually surprising.  He merely waited for Dick to continue, so, “We should fuck in Bruce’s bed.”

 

Jason actually stepped back at that.  “We should – what?”

 

Dick stepped forward after him, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.  This was a truly, ridiculously _bad_ idea, and he loved every single thing about it.  “We should fuck in Bruce’s bed,” he reiterated.  And then, just to be clearer in case Jason somehow misunderstood what he’d just said, he added, “Dick,” and gestured to himself, “plus ass,” he grabbed Jason’s decidedly still not naked ass, choosing to ignore the design currently resting under his palm (even though, admittedly, those briefs were to thank for this idea), “in Bruce’s bed,” Dick finished with a flourish.  A flourish here meaning Jason received a rather firm squeeze on his butt.

 

“You have a fucking weird obsession with my ass,” Jason muttered.  “But let me get this straight:  you want us, right now, with Barbara and _Bruce_ and the replacement and the _demon child from hell_ eating downstairs – waiting for us to get back – to go into Bruce’s room.  Right this instant.  And fuck in his bed.”

 

Well, when Jason put it like that.  Dick pondered it for a second, and then nodded firmly.  “Yes,” he said.  “That’s exactly what I want.”

 

Jason sighed.  Dick’s heart beat nervously in his chest as he waited, tantalized, for his boyfriend’s response.  But then Jason grinned, too, even more devilishly than Dick.  “You’re right. That is the fucking worst idea I have ever heard come out of your mouth.  Let’s do it.” 

 

They scrambled to pull their pants on quickly – and Dick was both grateful and irritated when those fucking Flash briefs disappeared once more beneath Jason’s slacks – but didn’t bother righting their clothes any more than that.  The chances of running into anyone else in the five feet between Dick’s room and Bruce’s was slim to none, but on the off chance that someone, say, Alfred did come looking for them, neither were inclined to give him any kind of show.  If it were Bruce it would be justified – it would be karma, in fact, and he’d deserve every second of it.  Just like Dick deserved every second of enjoyment Little Dick was about to get of Jason’s ass.

 

And, seriously, Dick really, really, _really_ needed a better name than Little Dick.

 

Bruce’s room, when Dick and Jason stepped into it two minutes later – thankfully having not ran into anyone on their way to do the dastardly deed – was more intimidating than Dick last remembered it being.  He stood frozen for a second in front of the closed door until Jason suddenly hit his arm.

 

“You’re chickening out, I can tell.  You can’t chicken out; this was your fucking idea,” Jason said. 

 

“Yeah, but—,” Dick started to say, but was interrupted when Jason leaned over to kiss him again.  And then Jason pulled back. 

 

“Nope; we came here to fuck, so let’s fucking fuck already.”  And no one ever said Jason didn’t know how to spin a convincing argument.  Dick said as much.

 

“You make a convincing argument, Jay.”

 

“Course I do.”

 

And then they were furiously tugging each other’s clothes off, making their way towards the bed.  One of Dick’s buttons popped off as they went and, without taking a second to pause in his attempts to rid Jason of his pants once more, said, “You better be about to sew that button back on; this shirt was expensive.”   

 

That was a gross understatement.  This shirt – a Christmas gift from Alfred – probably cost as much money as their apartment.  It was definitely worth more money than Jason ever spent on shirts, that was for sure.  Jason owned maybe one ridiculously nice shirt – also a gift from Alfred – but he absolutely refused to ever wear it.  Dick had been lowkey pressing for Roy to pop the question to Donna already so that he’d be able to make Jason wear it to a wedding since his younger not-brother refused to go to any official Wayne events.  Not that Dick Grayson himself had attended any for the past three months, leading to much wild media speculation.  But Roy was difficult, and kept insisting, _“I’m not a one-woman kind of man unless that woman is Lian,”_ and, _“Besides, given how often Donna seems to drift in and out of existence, it really doesn’t make sense to tie the knot,”_ and also, _“We haven’t dated in five years_ ,” which were all just excuses.  Roy could make it work if he really wanted.

 

“Just get Bruce to buy you a new one,” Jason replied flippantly, snapping Dick back to reality.  A rather pleasant reality, at that.  He should really learn not to drift away. 

 

“I thought we had a rule about not talking about Bruce when we’re about to have sex,” Dick said, momentarily pausing in his ministrations with Jason’s really quite difficult pants button to shrug his shirt off. 

 

“Given that we’re about to fuck in his bed, in his room, in his house while he’s downstairs eating dinner – I think an exception can be made this once.”

 

Dick nodded, only half listening because he’d finally managed to divest Jason of his pants.  And, whoops, there went another button. 

 

“Who’s sewing buttons back on now?” Jason asked.  The smirk on his lips was totally uncalled for.  “I’m serious, by the way; I like these pants.”

 

Dick rolled his eyes.  “Sure, Jay.  Whatever you say.  But I am ripping these _things_ ,” he tugged at the waistband of those wretched Flash briefs, “in two and tossing them in the trash when we’re done.”

 

“Fair enough.”

 

The dastardly Flash underwear, in the end, did not end up torn off Jason’s body the way Dick had intended.  It’d been a nice mental image, but honestly, ripping clothes – especially filled with elastics – took quite a lot of effort.  More effort than Dick was honestly willing to put in at the moment when the same result (Jason naked) could very easily be achieved by just tugging them down.  If Jason laughed at him when he finally gave up, Dick chose to be magnanimous and ignore it.  He was big-hearted that way.

 

Finally – finally! – they were both naked.  Jason fell back onto the bed, smirking as Dick climbed over him.  Dick grinned down at him, appreciating the view.  Jason’s face was always nice, as was his perfect hair – which made Dick stop for a moment once more and thank God that Jason wasn’t a redhead because they were honestly _all_ the worst and Jason deserved so much better than terrible red hair anyway and anyone who implied that Dick’s type was redheads was wrong because his type was _Jason_ – and, of course, now he had a perfect view of Jason’s truly divine abs. 

 

A weird sort of glee built up inside Dick.  He felt giddy – and almost in total disbelief of himself.  This was actually happening.  He, Dick Grayson, the upstanding and always mature, always responsible Nightwing, was going to fuck Jason right here and right now in Bruce’s bed.   

 

Nothing in his life would ever top this.

 

Jason, always impatient, suddenly asked, “So, are gonna do this or what?”

 

“Excuse me if I want to savor the moment,” Dick shot back.

 

“You can _savor the moment_ when we’re actually _having_ a moment.”

 

Dick rolled his eyes.  “We were _definitely_ having a moment, okay, I was trying to savor my revenge.”

 

“The revenge only happens if we actually get to fuck.”

 

Dick nodded along sarcastically.  “Yeah, yeah.  Although, that does make me wonder something.”

 

Jason scowled.  “What?”

 

The biggest smile he’d ever smiled crossed Dick’s face at that point, and he saw the brief flash of pure horror in Jason’s eyes when he registered it and realised what, exactly, he’d opened himself up for.

 

“Are you ready for some Dick?” 

 

Jason closed his eyes and groaned.  “I fucking hate you,” he said.  “So fucking much.”

 

“You sure about that? Because I think you just want a good… _dicking_.”

 

“I swear to God, Grayson: I will shoot you in the face as soon as we are done here.”

 

“You can’t resist the Dick, Jay.”

 

“Every fucking time,” Jason said.  “You do this every fucking time.”

 

“Yeah, but you love it,” Dick replied.  “Because you love—”

 

“Don’t you fucking say it—!”

 

“—dick,” Dick finished with a flourish. 

 

“I don’t know why I put up with you.  The sex is _never_ worth this.”  Jason complained, but Dick didn’t let it bother him.  Jason always complained.  And he always came back for more because contrary to the lies he tried to tell himself the sex was, indeed, definitely worth it.  That, and also Jason was definitely head over heels in love with him, but Dick was kind enough not to point that out too terribly often. And honestly, as much as Jay always complained, it was only a matter of time until:

 

“But maybe you should stop _dicking_ around.” 

 

“But if I stop dicking around, I wouldn’t be here, and you’d get no Dick.”  Dick really needed to reign in the grin because his cheeks were starting to hurt. But he couldn’t stop, this was too good.  He was very, very impressed with himself.  Jason, by the look on his face, not so much.

 

“Well, maybe I’ll go find _dick_ somewhere else.  I hear Wally’s always offering.”  Jason all of a sudden smirked.  “I bed he’d be impressed with my choice of underwear.”

 

A knife through the heart.  That’s what those words were.  Jason pulling out that Swiss Army knife of his and stabbing it straight through his heart.  Maybe he really was a secret redhead, the way Jason was insistent on hurting him like this.  Dick let out a longsuffering sigh. 

 

“Fiiiiiine,” he said, drawing the word out.  “I take the hint:  I’ll get on with it.  But only because I’m the only Dick that can satisfy you.”

 

Jason continued to be unamused.  “The longer we take is the more likely we are to get caught.  And not actually fuck, you asshole.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Dick finally acquiesced.  But only because Jason had that flat look on his face he wore when he was getting ready to shoot someone.  Or in this case, stab, probably, given the lack of available guns.  And Dick didn’t mean stab in any kind of way that could be considered a euphemism, unfortunately.

 

But to go with the euphemism, Dick was about ready to do some stabbing of his own. 

 

“Wait, Dick,” Jason interrupted.  “Do you know where—,” and then he cut himself off, his face suddenly white.  Dick raised an eyebrow, especially when Jason cleared his throat and attempted to continue, turning more red than white.  “Do you know where, uh,” Jason coughed again, “where _Bruce_ ,” he got out, sounding like his teeth were being pulled out of his mouth, slowly, one at a time, and not at the dentist office.  No, this was teeth being pulled in a ratty warehouse with only a single lightbulb somewhere by henchmen who were too incompetent to even tie their own shoelaces but had managed to catch him by sheer incompetence, that’s what he sounded like.  Dick blinked in wonder.  “Keeps his lube,” Jason finished in a rush and, okay, Dick was blushing, too. 

 

That definitely explained the pained overtone in his voice. 

 

“No! Why the hell would I?”

 

“Because I left _mine_ in my other fucking dress pants, _obviously_ , so unless earlier at home you happened to think ‘hey Jason and I are gonna fuck in Bruce’s bed at dinner tonight, better come prepared’ and packed some yourself, you better fucking find it.  Or _Dick_ ,” he jabbed Dick in the chest, “gets _no_ love tonight.”  That sarcasm was completely uncalled for when they were this close to getting it on.  

 

But Jason did raise a good point.  Dick rolled off of Jason and settled next to him on the way too luxurious bed.  It felt all nice and soft under his back – it was way nicer a bed than someone like Bruce deserved.  Which is part of why it was going to feel so good to fuck Jason in it. 

 

Dick sighed.  Lube.  He sat up and reached over to the nightstand.  Bruce was a practical sort of fellow, after all, and the nightstand was a practical sort of place to keep all sorts of illicit materials.  It’s where he and Jason kept their own, after all.

 

“Condoms, too,” Jason added.  “I refuse to walk out of here with an ass full of jizz.”

 

Dick didn’t reply.  He did, however, pull open the top drawer, and:  bingo.  He pulled out the lube and tossed it in Jason’s direction, and then pulled out the box of condoms and froze.

 

“What?” Jason huffed, clearly getting more and more irritated with how long this seemed to be taking. 

 

“This is Wally’s brand,” Dick said darkly. 

 

“How the fuck do you even know that?”

 

Dick rolled back over to look Jason in the eye, very seriously, and said, “What happens with the Titans stays with the Titans.”  Jason stared back, disbelief on his face, before he rolled his eyes.

 

“What the fuck ever; can you use them or not?”

 

Dick sighed.  “Yes, I can use them.”  And then, suddenly, realistion came to Dick, and he grew excited.  “Actually – yes!  Hell yeah, I can use them.  It’s almost more fitting.  It’s like – like karma!  Not just fucking in Bruce’s bed – fucking in Bruce’s bed with Wally’s condoms!  I’ll stick it to both of them when I stick it in you.”

 

Jason looked honest to God disgusted at that.  “Do you ever actually listen to yourself speak?”

 

“Think about how perfect this is, Jay!”

 

“What part of me looks like I care.” 

 

Dick’s eyes flashed.  He grinned, scarily wide – even wider than he had up to this point managed in his life.  Even wider than the smile he’d smiled only a minute ago.  Jason immediately looked like he regretted every single choice he’d ever made in his life – in both his lives – that had brought him here, to this very moment. 

 

“Your dick,” Dick replied, oh-so-cleverly.

 

“I’m going to punch you in the face.”

 

“No, you’re not; I just found the lube _and_ the condoms.”  He picked up the lube from where he’d thrown it and dangled it in Jason’s face.  Jason slapped his hand away.  He was scowling, of course, but scowling was basically Jason’s sex face. 

 

“At this point I’m fairly sure that having sex will not feel anywhere near as satisfying as punching you in the face will.”

 

“Mm-hm; keep saying that,” Dick replied, only half paying attention at this point.  He distracted himself fiddling with the tube of lube, avidly not thinking about the combination of lube and Wally’s brand of condoms together in Bruce’s bedside drawer, nope.  Whoever else’s ass might have benefitted from this lube was of no consequence to him, no sirree.  Not Wally’s, and most definitely not – oh, God, bad mental image! – Bruce’s. 

 

Ew.

 

No, the only ass on Dick’s mind was Jason’s.  He didn’t necessarily have the best view of it right now, with Jason laying on his back as he was, but it was a sacrifice he could live with.  Dick settled himself between Jason’s spread legs, reaching his free hand down and underneath Jason’s butt so he could grope it really quickly.  He could definitely live without seeing it for a second. 

 

“Still taking your damn time,” Jason said.  Dick stuck his tongue out at him.  Jason rolled his eyes and snatched the lube out of Dick’s hand.  “I’ll do it my fucking self.”  Dick’s eyes brightened at that, and he leaned back a bit to watch as Jason popped the cap open and proceeded to get himself ready to rumble.  When he was done, he threw the bottle of lube at Dick’s forehead and looked way too smug when it hit and bounced off because Little Dick had been taking all of Dick’s attention and he hadn’t noticed.

 

“Ow,” Dick muttered, rubbing at his head.

 

“Can we get on with this already?”

 

“You make a guy feel so loved, Jay.”  Dick grabbed the lube, making sure Little Dick was also ready for action.

 

“What can I say; I love me some Dick,” Jason shot back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  Dick actually beamed.  That was, in all honesty, the best thing Jason Peter Todd had ever in his two lives said to him.  And clearly a sign that Jason’s irritation was fading if he was jumping on the pun train.  This couldn’t be wasted.

 

“Well, that’s good, because I am totally and completely in love with you, too,” Dick said. 

 

“You’re a fucking – fuck,” Jason cut himself off as Dick went to town on his ass unexpectedly.  Dick smirked, proud of himself.  “A fucking sap,” Jason finished.

 

“Yeah,” Dick said, a single breath.  Jason tangled one hand in Dick’s hair and yanked him down to kiss him. 

 

And that, of course, was when Batman walked in.

 

Dick honestly wasn’t sure how he noticed.  He was, after all, very distracted and Bruce was renowned for moving without a sound.  But the weight of that dumbstruck stare suddenly bore into his back like a thousand tons suddenly crushing him and Dick felt it.  He felt every single pound of it.  He separated their mouths and paused his hips, still inside Jason.

 

“The fuck are you stopping for, _again_?  We don’t have all night for fuck’s sake,” his paramour demanded.  Nightwing didn’t answer though.  He stared down at Jason, very seriously – causing the younger man to frown in confusion – and then slowly twisted his head around, only to meet eyes with Bruce, standing on the doorway of his bedroom looking completely and totally flabbergasted.  The man’s jaw couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to open or close, but rage sat right under the surface of his stupor.

 

Dick couldn’t remember a time he’d been prouder.  It took quite a lot of work to stun the Batman himself into silence.  But beneath that pride existed a swirling maelstrom of emotions dominated by the combination of pure terror at getting caught, and complete vindication.  This was deserved.  This was well deserved.  Dick kept that thought in his mind.

 

“Fuck,” Jason whispered when he followed Dick’s line of sight to see Bruce standing there.  Dick ignored him.  He kept his eyes on Bruce, who looked like he was setting up to make a righteous scene, and in that moment, without thinking anything at all (almost as if he were Wally West or something, crazy enough), Dick Grayson, the hero known as Nightwing, did the only thing that popped into his head.

 

He smirked through the fear, letting the vindication take hold.

 

“Revenge,” he began, staring Bruce dead in the eye, “is a dick best served cold.”

 

Total silence was his reward.  From all ends.  Total, stunned silence. Dick finally broke eye contact with Bruce to grin down at Jason, who stared back up at him blankly for a second before he suddenly started struggling to get away.

 

“No,” Jason said.  “No!  We’re breaking up; I swear to God.  The fuck words just came out of your mouth?”

 

Dick rolled his eyes at Jason’s mostly useless efforts.  “My – hah! – my dick’s still in you,” he sniggered.

 

“Which makes it worse!” Dick almost forgot, in the face of Jason’s sudden, deeply amusing, and completely ridiculous outrage, that they weren’t alone anymore.  But then Bruce spoke, and it was impossible to ignore that heavy, overbearing, dire tone.  For either of them.

 

“Dick,” their shared father all but growled, causing shivers to run up said son’s back.  “Jason,” he continued, and for once Jason actually looked cowed by Bruce in a way he hadn’t since he was fifteen and got caught sneaking out and actually still respected the man.  Dick’s vindication washed away in a flood of trepidation as both of them stared warily at Bruce.  Bruce – or, rather, the Batman, as they were being struck by the full power of the Batman glare the likes of which hadn’t been seen since an incident nigh on two years ago when a particular red-haired duo (one Wally West and one Roy Harper) had, with the surprising help of a certain Clark Kent who both could be shockingly playful when he wanted to be and also had a soft spot the size of what Krypton used to be for the original Titans, managed to blow up half the Watchtower in a situation not one of them had ever been willing to fess up to.  To this day no one but them knew the details of what went down.  It was especially ironic (and therefore hilarious) to everyone not the Batman given that Superman was the most mature person alive, and Wally and Roy double-timed as surprisingly competent and somehow responsible, successful parents when they weren’t working together to make Bruce Wayne’s life as miserable as possible.  That had possibly been the angriest Dick had ever seen Bruce.

 

Until now.

 

“Get,” Bruce said slowly, teeth grinding over the words, “Out.  Now.”

 

Dick and Jason scrambled apart so fast it was a miracle nothing got hurt.  And by nothing, Dick specifically meant Little Dick.  They hurried, grabbing their clothes that were scattered around the room but had barely had time to get any kind of dressed – Jason was still hopping into his pants, Flash undies noticeably absent, Dick was pleased to see – when Bruce was grabbing their arms and attempting to forcibly eject them from the room.

 

“Can we get fucking decent, please?” Jason snapped as he tried to finish pulling his pants up with one hand.

 

“If you wanted to be decent, you should have stayed decent at dinner,” Bruce growled, and, oh, the hypocrisy.  Dick snatches his arm back from Bruce’s grip and stopped, meeting the man who had _unfortunately_ adopted him glare for glare.

 

“When I found _you_ fucking _my_ best friend in _my bed_ in _my_ home, I gave you time to get decent!”

 

Bruce’s mood darkened considerably at that which was, quite frankly, impressive.  And also completely infuriating. 

 

“Your brothers are downstairs!  And Barbara!” And obviously wouldn’t have been coming up to Bruce’s room for anything during dinner, so Dick chose to ignore that and focus on what was important.

 

“Wally West!  In my bed!  And my kitchen!  And my living room!”

 

The rather imposing man in front of him grabbed Dick’s arm once more and proceeded to march both his errant children of the bedroom, down the stairs, through several hallways, a couple living rooms, the dining room (where they were met by Barbara’s silent laughter, Tim’s frustrated sigh, and Damian’s honestly kind of adorable confusion because whereas Jason was a master dresser when he had to be who’d gotten pants on and zipped – the button now lost forever – and his shirt at least pulled over his shoulders if not properly done up, Dick had been slightly distracted by Bruce’s total hypocrisy and only made it into his boxers with the rest of his clothing held in his free hand – but, hey, at least his bod was bitching and everyone in that room was blessed by the sight), the kitchen (where Alfred’s faint, “Oh, my,” really did say everything), and then to the front door like a couple of wayward five year olds.  Bruce let them go long enough to yank open the door and shove them out.  He stood in the doorway for a second, jaw twitching like he had something to say.

 

“You two,” Bruce started, then stopped, looking even more frustrated.  Dick knew it was because there was nothing Bruce could say that wouldn’t be thrown right back at him. “I—,” he tried again, but then stopped.  And then, finally, a growled out, “Good night,” and the door was slammed in their faces.

 

Dick Grayson and Jason Todd, superheroes both famous and infamous as they were, stood on the porch in silence, engulfed by the black night surrounding them.

 

“That was the stupidest fucking idea you’ve ever had,” Jason said, breaking the silence.

 

“Definitely,” Dick replied evenly.

 

“I told you we were going to caught; you took so damn long.”

 

“Yeah.  You did.”

 

Silence fell again.  This time, it was Dick who broke it.

 

“Still worth it though.” He grinned triumphantly.

 

“Oh, _fuck_ , yeah,” Jason agreed without hesitation.  “The look on his face was priceless!”  And then, “I’m still breaking up with you.”

 

A beat.

 

“…Does that mean we get to go home and have hot break up sex?”  Dick always did try to focus on the important things.

 

Jason turned to look at Dick, a pleased grin lighting his already beautiful face up beatifically.  “I like the way you think, Grayson.”

 

“Of course you do, Mr. Todd.  Of course you do.”

 

And then, feeling generally quite pleased with himself, Dick reached out and dared the impossible:  he took Jason’s hand in his.  And then hoofed it to the car because it was surprisingly chilly and he was actually still half-naked.  Mostly naked.  Whatever.  Also because Little Dick had to finish a date with Jason’s ass and he’d be damned if he missed it. 

 

It was time to show Jason exactly how worth it the dick jokes were.


End file.
